


Filial Duty

by RevenantWings



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Check notes for triggers because there's a lot, Curse of Strahd, Expanding on Rahadin's Backstory, Gen, I don't know what a timeline is because they've revised it so many times, reading curse of strahd like why does Rahadin have such bad daddy issues?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:15:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25227421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RevenantWings/pseuds/RevenantWings
Summary: The things we do for family…Rahadin commits parricide.
Kudos: 11





	Filial Duty

**Author's Note:**

> Liung, if you read this before I tell you we're far enough in our campaign I will be crawling in the vents from a social distance.
> 
> I want to preface this by saying I've been working on a series of short stories to flesh out characters and their motivations and personalities before I start running a Curse of Strahd campaign.
> 
> This story is easily the most horrific thing I have ever written, I was legitimately uncomfortable at multiple parts and I was the person writing this. However, it stuck out to me that if Rahadin was the kind of person to help humans conquer his own people and then later commit genocide against them, then he's probably not very limited in the acts of violence he's willing to commit, including parricide.
> 
> It is problematic that the CoS story contains a guy who literally destroys his own race at the behest of two white kings. However, Rahadin is not portrayed as a good man; his evil ultimately eclipses that of Strahd if you even take one second to compare the two. He seems polite and collected but is ultimately incredibly depraved. He has murdered thousands of people to the point that their spirits haunt him creating a cacophony of screams around him that he doesn't notice and wouldn't bother him if he did. Rahadin could easily be a Darklord himself, if the Dark Powers had anything to bargain him with (and they do, considering how much he loves Strahd). As such, it was kind of difficult for me to get inside his head. Strahd at the very least has motives and fears, whereas Rahadin is simply this cold killer entity whose only bond is to the von Zarovich family and ultimately Strahd since you know, he didn't exactly seem to care about what happened to Sergei. "Oh I vowed to serve this family but the older brother killed the youngest brother, becoming a vampire and ultimately dooming his family line? I dig it." - Rahadin, 351 B.C.
> 
> I would like to warn you that this fic contains the following things that some people may find triggering to read: violence, murder, parent death, racism, a sentence referencing war rape, reference to infertility, parallels to colonization/genocide.

The burning scent of his homeland filled Rahadin’s head with equal parts nostalgia and resolve. 

He crept stealthily through the streets, even though they were quiet and empty. It was a sharp contrast to the memories of his youth – of a people who were always out and about visiting each other or conducting business. Dusk Elves were a social people, and the current silence would be unnerving if it were possible to unsettle a man like Rahadin.

Behind him the dull roar of fighting and swords clashing could be heard coming from the city centre. Rahadin had to move quickly if he was going to finish his task before the von Zarovich army began sweeping through the rest of the capitol city. The battle was all but done, for the Dusk Elf King was dead: Rahadin had cut down the cowering sovereign himself. Only the piteous remnants of the Dusk Elf army remained, though surely they would soon realize their foolishness and turn to flee.

He glanced down at the blood spatter on his armor as he moved. It would need a good shining before he presented himself to his own King.

The Dusk Elves could have easily prevented the tensions from coming to this point – all they had been asked to do was pay fealty to King Barov – but they didn’t.

It had been a satisfying moment, looking into the eyes of the same Elven King who had exiled him, knowing that it was the man’s own hubris and blindness in the face of corruption that had led him to the point of Rahadin’s sword.

It had been what, fifteen years since Rahadin had been exiled? Hardly a long time to an elf, though he had barely been an adult when he’d been forced from his home. 

Rahadin had taken refuge in nearby lands, brawling in fighting rings for scraps until his prowess brought him to the attention of the human King, Barov von Zarovich. Barov had been highly interested in Rahadin and his abilities, inviting him to join the von Zarovich army. Rahadin’s skills paid off for Barov in several important battles against early Tergish incursions. Recognizing the makings of a superior general, Barov had treated the elf well. So well in fact, that when Rahadin learned that the King’s attention had turned to the Dusk Elf people, he hardly batted an eye. King Barov rewarded Rahadin’s loyalty, titled him a general, and sent him off to fight his own people in a bloody campaign that had lasted well over a year.

When the campaign was nearly at its end, King Barov had called for Rahadin to meet with him...  


~~~

Rahadin rested on his knees before the throne of King Barov von Zarovich, the blood-red carpet cushioning his knees from the stone floor. The raven-haired monarch smiled at him and motioned for him to rise.

“General Rahadin, it is good to see you in one piece.” King Barov stood and laid a hand on Rahadin’s shoulder, the crow’s feet at the corner of his eyes crinkling as he gave a genuine smile.

“It is good to see you as well, My Lord.” Rahadin felt at ease with King Barov, something he had never felt while living among his own people; Barov could easily be pleased by violence, an activity Rahadin was very skilled at.

Barov’s arm wrapped around Rahadin’s shoulders as he dismissed his guards and led Rahadin from the dais to one of the windows set into the walls of the castle.

“Rahadin, if I tell you a secret, can you keep it between just you and me?” Barov inquired in a conspiratorial tone as he looked Rahadin earnestly.

“Yes, of course My Lord!” Rahadin responded, surprised. What could it possibly be that the King wanted to tell him and him alone?

Barov’s eyes circled the room, as though checking to ensure his guards had obeyed his orders. He then turned to whisper in Rahadin’s ear.

“Ravenovia is pregnant!” The King was grinning from ear-to-ear.

“Congratulations, My Lord!” Rahadin’s eyes widened in surprise. He knew the King and his wife had struggled with fertility issues after the birth of their first son. It had been difficult on them, as the von Zarovich traditions required the birth of three sons in each generation. Some whispered in the background that it was the work of the Gods, whether a punishment for some act of hubris or as though they were trying to prevent some tragedy from befalling the family. Rahadin stopped that talk whenever he heard it and did not tolerate such heresy from his own men without punishment. 

“However, that isn’t the only item we must discuss.” Barov turned his face back towards the window and gestured downwards, interrupting Rahadin’s thoughts.

“It is all well and good to look forward to the birth of another child, but if my enemies live then my children are not safe.” Down in the courtyard Rahadin could see the young squires practicing their swordsmanship. One boy stood out from the rest, executing his drills with perfection. A clear natural, he avoided the common mistakes of his peers as he swung strongly at his sparing partner and knocked him to the ground. The boy reached down a hand to help his opponent up and then removed his helmet to reveal his raven-coloured hair. It was Strahd von Zarovich of course, the King’s firstborn son.

Human children grew up so quickly it was almost a shock to Rahadin every time he returned from a campaign and saw how Strahd had grown. His prowess with a sword shouldn’t have been a surprise; Rahadin knew Strahd had been born to be a conqueror. It was his duty as the firstborn son of the von Zarovich family, in the same way that Rahadin’s duty as a general would be to assist him someday. 

“The Dusk Elves will not bow to me; they will not declare fealty. The skirmishes against elven guerrillas are becoming more and more frequent even as we conquer their cities. The remainder live in lands that now belong to me on all sides around them and yet they will not show me the respect I command.” He paused for a moment, frustrated. His eyes turned to look at Rahadin.

“I’m sorry Rahadin, I know the last few years have been rough on you, I have asked much of you in asking you to turn on your own people, maybe too much.” The King’s hand squeezed his shoulder almost sympathetically.

“It’s nothing My Lord, they are not my people, not since the day they cast me out. Your people are my people, and have been for fifteen years now.” These types of conversations made Rahadin uncomfortable, not because he had any lingering affection for the Dusk Elves, but it was the acknowledgment that Rahadin could never escape the fact that he would always be seen as a Dusk Elf himself.

“That is exactly what I had hoped you would say. I am eternally grateful for your loyalty, as my children will one day be too. This leads us to what I really wished to discuss.” 

King Barov gave Rahadin a broadly paternal smile as he clasped his hands in his.

“I would like to ensure that your loyalty is always with us, in fact I would like to name you a member of the von Zarovich family.”

“Me, a von Zarovich?” He gasped. Now Rahadin was truly shocked. The von Zarovich family was a prestigious noble line with little patience for those not of their blood.

“An honored title for a man who truly deserves it. You will serve me not just as a general but as a son, and one day you will serve Strahd not just as a brother-in-arms but as a true brother. What do you say?” King Barov looked at him intently.

“I accept, of course My Lord, I would be truly honored!” Rahadin felt a rare emotion bubble up from within: pride.

“Excellent, excellent! Rahadin, my son!” Barov slapped him heartily on the back. “We’ll have a feast to celebrate and then back to the battlefield with you hmm? Strahd needs a role model to look up to.”

Rahadin looked back out the window to Strahd – his brother, sparring below. His new family accepted him, valued him for what he was in a way he had never experienced in his homeland. Rahadin would protect Strahd at all costs.

“The survivors, Lord?” Rahadin always inquired about what to do with those left after the conquering of each city. He expected the same answer he always received.

“Leave them to the mercy of the Vistani.”

~~~

Rahadin stopped just outside the door. His parents’ house had not changed in the slightest. The small garden outside, ever composed of his mother’s strange mix of carnations and tulips, was untouched except for the cut stems of that which she had recently brought in.

He didn’t even know if they’d be there. His father was no warrior and anyone with sense would have fled by now, but his former family was a proud one; loyalists of the King. 

Rahadin removed his helmet, attaching it to his belt. Its gleaming red matching the rest of his armor denoted him not just a powerful general, but also a von Zarovich. He wanted his parents to know just who had come to see them.

He reached out his hand, touching the strong oak door and rested his head on it for a moment, breathing in the scent of the home he had never planned on seeing again. Then he straightened his back and boldly pushed the door open.

Rahadin swept his rapier out in front of him as he crept into his former home. All was quiet, though he could see the red embers of a hastily subdued fire resting in the fireplace. If his parents had fled they hadn’t been gone long.

The sound of smashing glass stole his attention as he swung to face the direction it came from. An older elven woman held her hands up in a peaceful gesture as she stepped out from the hiding spot she had accidentally revealed. A statuette of Kesd Lesve lay shattered on the ground.

“Mother? Where is… Father?” Rahadin barked. After today he would never have to call them by those names ever again.

She looked at him first with confusion, and then astonishment as recognition lit up in her eyes. “Rahadin? What are you doing here?” She almost looked happy, but surely it was just the surprise.

“Never mind that, answer my question please.” He had no time for this.

“He went looking for... your brother.” She looked up at him in worry with tears in her eyes.

“My brother?” His brother was safe in King Barov’s castle.

“After you left, we… we had another child.” She looked at him almost apologetically. “His name is Daevian. He’s only 14 years old. He snuck out, thinking he could fight…” She looked at Rahadin more closely, as if taking in his bloodstained armour for the first time, and her mouth curved into a frown.

Of a single mind, Rahadin turned to leave then, he had to quickly find his father before someone else did if he was going to have his revenge. He wouldn’t let someone else have that satisfaction.

“I understand Rahadin, you’re still angry.” His mother suddenly clutched at his wrist with both hands.

It was a stupid thing to say – he was standing before her in the armour of her enemy.

“I’m not angry.” Rahadin pulled himself free from her grip with a jerk.

It was a stupid thing to say – he never would have come here if he wasn’t still holding a grudge. 

However, with her distraction a thought suddenly crossed his mind. He knew what soldiers did to women on the battlefield. If the soldiers didn’t kill her, then certainly the Dusk Elves would once they found out it was her son who had betrayed them. He needed to do something; she did bring him into this world after all.

Rahadin turned and reached out a hand, cradling his mother’s tearful but smiling face as she looked up at him hopefully. “Will you go look for your brother Rahadin? He’s just a boy.”

He was suddenly struck with the realization that his mother’s eyes were the same as his, but with considerably more warmth. He could tell that she still loved him now, after all these years, as he stood in her kitchen wearing the colours of the force who was massacring her friends, neighbours, and family outside. But he had another mother now, one he had vowed to kill for, one who had never stood idly by while he was exiled by a corrupt monarch. His lips curled into a sneer.

“I will.”

He brought his other hand up, and his mother’s smile turned into a look of complete horror as Rahadin swept his blade across her throat. He held her in his arms as she choked on her own blood, clutching at his chest feebly until at last she grew still.

Revenge? Mercy? He didn’t know why he’d done it. It didn’t matter anyway. What was one life among the thousands he’d already taken? Among the thousands he would take in the name of von Zarovich?

Rahadin gently laid his mother on the ground, and then stepping over her corpse he made his way outside without even a single glance back.  
The street was much louder now than when he had entered the house. Soldiers were dragging those few who’d failed to flee out of their homes and into the streets as they looted and slaughtered, setting fires as they went.

Rahadin swept back the length of his hair, preparing to place his helmet back on his head, when he was suddenly accosted by a soldier who thrust a sword out towards him.

“Oi! Elf! Who’d you kill to get that armor eh? Think you’re going to get away with that?” The man spat the words with venom. Rahadin judged by his uniform that he was no one of any importance. His sword hand twitched.

The soldier next to the first threw a gauntleted hand roughly over his friend’s mouth.

“Stop you idiot! That’s King Barov’s son, Rahadin! Can’t you see his colours?”

The first soldier seemed to shrink and went pale, giving Rahadin a proper salute. 

“I’m… I’m sorry My Lord, forgive me.” He was practically shivering in his boots.

Rahadin waved him away, fools had their place on the battlefield and it wouldn’t do well to spill his blood in case he was needed for fodder later.

“What would you like done with this hovel, Lord Rahadin?” The more pragmatic soldier asked him, gesturing to the house he’d grown up in.

“Burn it.” Rahadin commanded as he walked away without a second thought. He was quickly losing his chance to find where his father had gone.

The sound of flint and tinder struck behind him and he heard a whoosh as the flames crackled up the dry exterior of the building. Rahadin did not look back.

~~~

The soldiers stood around the elf in a circle, goading him. He did not respond to them, focused on cradling the limp form of a smaller, bloody body in his arms.

At Rahadin’s approach the soldiers parted to allow him into the circle. He signaled to them all to step back, which they did instantly at his command.

Rahadin’s voice seemed to catch the elf’s attention.

“Who are you?” Came the slightly panicked, sharp voice of his father as Rahadin stepped from the smoke.

Rahadin hesitated a moment, but his earlier actions and what he would do next had cemented his new identity.

“Rahadin von Zarovich.” He swept his helmet off again for effect as he brought his sword arm up.

Rahadin hesitated again, the point of his curved blade digging into his father’s chest as the older elf kneeled speechless before him, the body still clutched in his hands.

Rahadin hesitated, but not out of remorse.

Nor pity.

Nor shame.

No, Rahadin wanted to savor this moment. Despite his cold and mostly unemotional state, this action was going to bring him great joy. He waited for his father to say something.

Instead, his father looked slowly up into his son’s cold eyes and deliberately spat in his face.

Rahadin flinched, but kept himself from cursing under his breath. To spit in someone’s face was a truly vulgar insult. He tried to wipe the saliva from his face nonchalantly as though it had not affected him, but they had all seen it.

“It’s really nothing personal, Father.” Rahadin stated as he pushed the blade in an inch.

But it was.

“Even the Moonblade didn’t accept you Rahadin, what was I to do?” His father blurted out, referring to what he perceived as Rahadin’s failings; he’d narrowly avoided being killed during the bladerite when the sentient longsword rejected him. Rahadin knew full well that his father must have considered it a relief when he was exiled. A child rejected by a Moonblade was a great shame, an evil stain on a family.

“Did it accept him?” Rahadin bristled, gesturing at the boy cradled in his father’s arms. 

“He was just a boy Rahadin! Barely 14 years old!” Came the pained reply. Rahadin could see the stab wounds clearly through the torn clothing of the boy’s unarmored chest.

One of the soldiers spoke up then, clearly a man with a conscience. A rare quality on the battlefield.

“He attacked us, My Lord, just rushed us. We surprised ‘em when we came ‘round the corner. He had a serious weapon with ‘im.” The soldier held up a familiar looking longsword: his father’s Moonblade. 

“The second son you failed to save, coward.” Rahadin twisted his scimitar a little, cutting further into the flesh. It was what he deserved, replacing him with another son and trying to pretend that his failure with Rahadin had never happened. 

“What could I have done against a corrupt prince and his father, the King of our people?” The old elf pushed out between clenched teeth. He was trying – and failing – not to let his pain show. Pathetic.

“You could have died for your son then, rather than fall to cowardice.” Rahadin hissed. “You could have joined me, you could have said something, anything. You knew just as well as I did what the prince was doing.” He was almost spitting the words out now, decades of anger rising inside and replacing his eternal calm.

“It was not my concern Rahadin! You were 100 years old, an adult. Your decisions as an elf were yours to make and yours alone, along with receiving the consequences.” The old elf’s expression was almost pleading, trying to make his former son understand. 

“You’re right, my decisions are mine to make alone, and that’s why I stand before you today, the conqueror of your people!” Rahadin had fifteen years to understand; he understood that in his father’s place he would have stood up for his own blood rather than live as a coward.

“You are a son of the Dusk Elf people, Rahadin, they’re your people too!” He was trying to keep his face neutral, but Rahadin still caught the quick look of disgust. It reminded him of the childhood he’d wasted trying to impress his father.

“No I am not, Father, you made sure of that the day I was exiled.” Rahadin slowly pulled the tip of his blade from the wound in his father’s chest, allowing a rivulet of blood to begin making its way down the elf’s fine clothing.

“I had your mother to think about!” His panicked justifications fell flat to Rahadin, who had had far too long to think about this moment.

“I ran into her earlier today while I was looking for you.” Rahadin kept his face a mask. “I have ensured that you will never have to worry about her ever again.” The old elf could see the truth behind his former son’s cold and merciless eyes. Finally, tears began to fall from his dirt-stained face carving a path down his old and weathered cheeks as his face twisted into a look of hatred.

“I would pity you Rahadin, if I had anything left in my heart for you at all.” He choked out between the sobs wracking his chest.

“I feel much the same.” With that, Rahadin struck the elf’s head from his shoulders with one clean blow. The body stayed upright for a moment from the force of lifeblood leaving the body, before it slowly fell backwards onto the ground.

Rahadin turned to his men who were looking at him with a mix of confusion and nervousness. “Have that blade brought to my tent, it belongs to me now.” Rahadin snapped, gesturing to the Moonblade as he began to wipe down his scimitar.

Once finished, he began to walk away. It was time to receive the battle reports from his officers.

Rahadin had expected to feel some form of satisfaction.

Instead, he felt nothing at all.


End file.
